


Bathwater

by dirtymattress



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, if you squint there's lilo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtymattress/pseuds/dirtymattress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You make a little noise every now and then to remind me what a good person you are. But a good person wouldn't be here right now...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bathwater

  
It was never a secret. Them, their relationship, their love.  
  
He was made to love him, Harry thinks. Lips made to kiss down the smooth column of his throat, hands made to hold, fingertips shaped to trail across his eyelashes, up the cut of his cheekbones, down the curve of his ears.  
  
Louis was made to love himself, Harry thinks, only sometimes though. When he hears his voice filter out from the radio, reads the two week old texts on his phone, when his rent is paid and his tuition settled and he get the plane tickets in the mail.  
  
Because he knows Harry will come, knows Harry will drop everything for him. Whenever, wherever, whatever. Did it when they were five years old, eleven, sixteen, twenty fucking one.  
  
“I love you, Harry.” It’s so soft and sweet, whispered into his damp skin as they hide away in the dark. Curtains pulled shut, responsibilities left for the morning. It’s only soft voices and soft touches and it burns and heals all at the same time. Because this is all he’s ever wanted, from life, from Louis. He forgoes his words, carding his fingers through the chestnut hair of the boy settled on his chest, legs intertwined.  
  
“I don’t think you know what that means anymore...”  
  
“I know that I love you. Always have. Do you love me?” _Still. After all I’ve done to you. After all I’ve done to us. Do you still love me?_ It goes unsaid.  
  
“Unfortunately. Very much so.”

 

 

 

\---

  
_“I booked a tour, Haz! Me! Three months, 12 countries, starts in four days. It’s all happening! Love, can you believe it?”_  
  
 _“Of course, Lou, you deserve it. I’m so proud of you.”_  
  
They’d spent the next three days making love all over their shitty little flat, on the bed, the sofa, the kitchen table with the wobbly leg, the closet floor next to Harry’s crate of forgotten canvases. They made love all over the city he’d be leaving behind, the bathroom of their favorite cafe, the mystery section of Harry’s favorite book store, Ikea. Louis loved Ikea.  
  
Louis signed little _i love you’s_ into Harry’s chest, his hands, his hips, his thighs, little _you’re beautiful, you’re exquisite, you’re perfect to me’s_ with his hands and fingers because he was on voice rest, terrified he’d do something wrong and ruin his vocal chords. Harry hated it, wanting to hear that voice forever, and fucked him just to hear his guttural little moans, just to hear him chanting his name as he came in long drags across their stomachs.  
  
 _“I’m going to miss you, Harry. Are you going to miss me?”_  
  
 _“Unfortunately, very much so.”_

 

 

 

\---

  
“You need to take the trash out.” Zayn yawned, padding into the living room and throwing himself back onto the sofa.  
  
“Go home, Z.”  
  
“It smells, mate.”  
  
“That’s you, _mate_.” Niall snorted, coming to Harry’s defense. Zayn’s eyebrows shot up and he pulled his t-shirt up to his nose before taking a sniff. Smoke, same as always. But Harry pushed himself up from his chair, throwing his controller to Zayn and made his way into the kitchen.  
  
Harry hummed quietly, making sure everything was sealed closed before slipping into his room and pulling on a shirt and shoes. Harry hated to take out the trash, that was always Louis’ job.  
  
He threw the bags into the dumpster behind their building and turned to head back in but he see’s a black SVU stopped in front, passenger door opened and a small, single foot sticking out. The man is talking to the driver, hushed whispers but Harry can feel it in the air, can feel Louis in his skin after so long.  
  
“Lou?”  
  
Chestnut hair and sharp teeth and crinkled eyes meet Harry with a stunned face but then the biggest grin he thinks he’s ever seen takes over as Louis jumps from the car, jumps right into Harry’s arms. It takes Harry a moment to register the weight against his chest, the small hands clawing at his neck and shoulders, the thin lips trailing kisses down his chin.  
  
“Surprise! I wanted to surprise you!”  
  
“What are you doing here? You’re not home for another few days, what-” But kissing the love of his life is much more important than words. Louis can’t keep his hands to himself, digging for the warmth under Harry’s shirt and pulling at the band of his pants while Harry grabs Louis’ guitar from the car and shares a soft smile with the boy seated behind the wheel, doe brown eyes and a hesitant smile. _Liam_ , Harry remembers months later.  
  
“Thanks, mate. For bringing him home.” The boy just nods, turning forward in the car as Harry shuts the door closed. He takes Louis’ hand, pulling him into their building and misses the lingering smile Louis throws back to the sitting car, misses it entirely.

 

 

 

\---

  
_“It’s not real, baby.”_   
  
_“It looks real to me, Lou. Why didn’t you say anything? I had to find out from the fucking Daily Mail.”_   
  
_“I didn’t want you to be hurt, I didn’t want it to mean anything.”_   
  
_“But it does, right? It does mean something. She means something.”_   
  
_“No... We just have to be careful. I’m doing this for us, for you.”_   
  
_“What if I don’t want you to do this for me?”_   
  
_“Don’t do that-”_   
  
_“I- I’ve got to go. I have to get to work.”_   
  
_“Haz, I’m sorry.”_   
  
_“Hazza?”_   
  
_“Harry?”_   
  
_“Harry, I love you.”_   
  
_“I love you, too.”_

 

 

 

\---

“You’re going to win, Lou! Of course you’re going to win! I’m so proud of you, I love you so much.”  
  
“... I love you, too.”  
  
“Can’t wait to see you. Fuck, I miss you so much. Never been to New York, Lou, I don’t even know what to pack!”  
  
“Harry...”  
  
It was never a secret. Them, their relationship, their love.  
  
Until it was.

 

 

 

\---

  
_“I miss you.”_  
  
 _“I miss you, too.”_  
  
Louis sniffs over the phone, Harry can tell he’s in bed, probably in one of his sad, homesick moods.  
  
 _“If you could go anywhere Haz, anywhere in the world, where would you go?”_  
  
 _“Anywhere?”_  
  
 _“Anywhere.”_  
  
 _“Wherever you are.”_  
  
Harry gets his flight itinerary the next morning, quits his job when they won’t give him the time off and spends the next three weeks in Australia with a blue eyed boy at his side.

 

 

 

\---

  
Two weeks and six days into Australia, she’s photographed with a ring on her finger.  
  
Harry throws up the entire mini bar and almost drowns in the hotel pool. He’s still not sure if it was an accident or not. Bodyguards have to pull Louis, grief stricken and hysterical, off Harry as he tries to block Harry in their room, tries to get him to stay. They take Harry to the airport after he threatens to walk there himself, he doesn’t go back for his luggage. He’s on the next flight home and throws his phone in the trash bin as soon as he lands.

 

 

 

\---

  
Everything is steel and white lacquer and new. New New New. Harry’s had enough of new, if he’s honest. The kitchen is huge, a fridge with an ice maker and an island with two sinks and Harry wonders if he’ll ever even use it all. Their old sink was always clogged and Louis would jump his bones the second he would crawled out from under the counter, sweat on his brow and smelling of _man_ , or so Louis would say. Drove him crazy and maybe Harry made sure the sink got clogged more times than not.  
  
The bedroom is cold, white sheets and a white duvet and a white rug and a white lamp on a white dresser. The bathroom is white and the living room is white and the laundry room is white and Harry’s peeling, chocolate brown boots seem like enemy number one right now.  
  
“Do you like it?”  
  
“Yes,” and Louis make a happy little sound in his throat as Harry adjusts the phone to his ear.  
  
“Do you love it?”  
  
“I love you. Come home.”  
  
 _Just a few more days_ , he coo’s from halfway across the world and Harry swears he can feel the distance, can hear it in Louis’ voice. Harry wants to see him, wants to touch him, taste him.  
  
“You start uni soon, love. I don’t want you to be tired. I want to see you too, though. Did you get everything settled? Tuition and that? I’m so happy you’re finishing, so proud of you.”  
  
“Yes, thank you.”  
  
“Anything for you, Harry.” _Anything that you want, anything that you need, anything but me._ It goes unsaid.  
  
When Harry gets home from his first day of classes, shoulders heavy and brain already buzzing with information, Louis is buried in the quilts of their bed, skin soft from sleep and tongue softer. Harry misses class for the next two days, doesn't see life outside of their flat, doesn't care if the world’s stopped spinning all together.  
  
When Louis leaves that third day, luggage freshly packed and beanie pulled low, Harry cries into his neck and stretches Louis’ shirt out from his balled up fists.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“I love you, too,” Harry breathes against his skin, nose dipping into this collarbone.  
  
“I’m going to miss you. Are you going to miss me?”

 

 

 

\---

  
“His name’s... Barnaby.”  
  
“What kind of name is that?!” Louis scrunches up his face, reaching to scratch behind the chocolate pugs ear. Harry’s cradling the puppy in his arms like it’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen. “‘S got a fat lil face, huh? He’s kinda cute.”  
  
“I think he’s perfect.” Harry coo’s, kissing the sleeping puppy’s head before looking up at Louis. “Thank you so much. He’s wonderful, Lou, I-”  
  
“I know you get lonely being here all by yourself. As long as you don’t love him more than me, don’t let him take over my side of the bed either.”  
  
Harry kisses him, slow and lazy and it’s been weeks since he’s seen him, weeks since he’s let himself get lost in him, lost in them.  
  
“Never.”

 

 

 

\---

  
“Someone’s about to graduate, huh?” Harry grins, fingers tracing Louis’ face on the computer screen.  
  
“Maybe...”  
  
“I’m proud of you, love. So fucking proud, knew you could do it. Always knew you were a genius.”  
  
“It’s an art degree, Lou.” Harry blushes, ducking his head to hide his goofy smile. “Hardly a genius.”  
  
“You’re a genius to me, though. And I’m proud of you for going back and finishing. You’re going to be huge, I know it. All those little squiggly faced people you love to draw, they’re gonna be seen all over the world, baby. You’re gonna be taking care of me soon, wait and see.”  
  
“Only room in this house for one superstar, I reckon.” Louis’ smile softens, eyes low and fond and Harry wants to pull him through the screen. Wants to run his fingers through his hair, bruise his skin, leave him writhing against their sheets. “Do you, um, do you think you can make it? I mean, I know you’re in the middle of-”  
  
“Don’t be daft, Harry, are you crazy? I wouldn't miss if for the world. Save me a seat, right up front.”  
  
 _i love you_ , he signs with his hands, _you’re perfect to me_.

 

 

 

\---

  
Two days after Harry’s graduation, a plane ticket arrives along with a brand new car wrapped up in a bow.  
  
Harry’s never been to Paris.  
  
 ** _Just you and me, Harry. I promise. Just you and me. I’m so sorry. I love you. Please._**

 

 

 

\---

  
_“You’re gonna make it, Lou. Bright city lights, traveling the world, the whole thing. You’re gonna be brilliant.”_   
  
_“You really think so?”_   
  
_Harry stares up at the stars above them, feels Lou shift in his arms until he’s looking down at the curly headed boy._   
  
_“Of course. Promise me something...”_   
  
_“Anything.” Louis’s fingers trace down the side of Harry’s face, settling along his red lips before he chases them with his own. “Anything for you, Harry.”_   
  
_“Don’t forget me, don’t leave me behind. Promise me, Lou, please.”_   
  
_Harry’s voice breaks near the end and Louis’ never seen him so sullen, so scared._   
  
_“I love you, Harry. With everything that I am.”_   
  
_i love you, Louis signs proudly, practicing the little sign language they’d learned in school. do you love me?_   
  
_“Very much so.”_   
  
_“Then I promise.”_

 

 

 

\---

  
It’s summer in Paris, Harry remembers.  
  
He prints out his boarding pass, packs his luggage with everything he’ll need plus everything he won't. Barnaby is hiding in his bed underneath the kitchen counter, snoring loudly as Harry pours himself a drink. He needs to be taken to the park, Harry thinks, knows he’s been feeling a bit neglected with finals and graduation and such. Harry silently promises to make it up to him, maybe get him those expensive dog treats Louis’ PR agent had sent over once.  
  
Barnaby looks up at him then, as if he’d heard Harry’s thoughts.  
  
“What am I going to do with you, you lazy old man.” Barnaby slowly rises, shaking himself out before walking over to Harry’s feet and settling down again. “I’m gonna miss you, Barns, are you gonna miss me?”  
  
The small dog snorts, nose plugged up like it always is and Harry breaks down.

 

 

 

\---

  
He misses his flight, never even gets up from where he’d slumped down on the kitchen floor next to Barnaby. Louis calls for three days straight. Harry never answers. Enough is enough.

 

 

 

\---

Harry has a new flat. Three blocks west from his art gallery, four blocks north from his studio. It’s rather perfect, if he’s honest. Tiny, the sheets smudged with charcoal from his fingers and the walls filled with art. Zayn keeps his DJing equipment in the spare room, Niall keeps the fridge stocked.  
  
He has a show in two weeks, which means he’s been losing sleep for the past three. Niall made him a makeshift bed in the back of the gallery after Harry stopped going home all together.  
  
It’s 2 am. It’s snowing outside. There’s a boy at the windows, beanie pulled low with crinkly eyes and a palm pressed against the glass, someone else's silver band across his finger.  
  
 _i love you_ , he signs slowly, _do you love me?_  
  
He was made to love him, Harry thinks. Lips made to kiss down the column of his throat, hands made to hold, fingertips shaped to trail across his eyelashes, up the cut of his cheekbones, down the curve of his ears.  
  
Louis was made to love himself, Harry thinks.


End file.
